


wasteland baby

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-eps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 06:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18114980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: A Sam/Jack post-ep collection for S1.





	1. Children of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> i know i know i know. what am i doing? this has been done before and i've got another wip i could be working on (*looks awkwardly at body checked*) but this is something i've been wanting to do! there will be a sam/jack post-ep for every ep of SG1 from Season 1-8. the post-eps will range from gen to au to flat out shippy fluff to canon-compliant. i'm also doing a general rundown review/info from the illustrated guides i bought over on tumblr for each ep.

Jack slipped his sunglasses on and fished his truck keys from his pocket as he strode through the SGC’s parking garage. Slipping into his Air Force uniform, falling back into combat formations, wrapping his finger around the trigger of a gun, and leading a unit felt as easy as sitting on his rooftop with a beer and a telescope in hand. Easy. Natural.

He thought about his new unit--Daniel, an alien, and a new scientist. Each had proven themselves more than capable of handling themselves, both alone and as a team. 

The sound of an engine revving loudly caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder and the sight before him stopped him in his tracks. Captain Doctor Samantha Carter was sitting astride a sleek black Ducati Monster. 

Something hot and fleeting ignited in his chest at the sight of her, the same rush of excitement and adrenaline he had when he sat down across the table from her only a day or so ago and told her with a smirk that he  _liked_  women. The same rush he got when she smirked right back and challenged him to arm wrestle.

But she was part of his team now. His responsibility to keep safe and bring home in one piece, no matter how far across the galaxy they traveled. With a last longing look at his truck and abandoning the thought of an ice cold beer waiting for him at home, Jack stuffed his keys and his fists into his pockets and made a beeline for the newest--and youngest--member of his team.

“Carter! Hey, Carter!”

The Captain looked up at him and he watched with some degree of shame as her expressive face cooled and hardened into a stern, guarded glare and her hands tightened their grip on the handlebars of her bike. 

Jogging the last few feet towards her, he grinned what he hoped was a friendly, disarming grin and stood beside her, rocking back on his heels, hands still in his pockets.

“Colonel.” 

He winced at the tone--perfectly polite and formal--and felt some sense of shame that his antics, and the antics of Kawalsky and his team, were the cause of it. 

“Listen, Captain, I just wanted to say--” He paused, fumbling for the right words. He never was good with this sort of thing, always preferring actions speaking louder and all that. But it was important to him--and the future success of SG1 and the SGC--that he get this right.

Carter shifted slightly on the bike and dropped her grip from the handlebars, staring at him expectantly. “Sir?”

Jack sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair, ruffling the already riotous strands. “Ah, hell. Look Carter, about earlier--I just wanted you to know that all that not liking scientists crap, it’s nothing personal. I’m just not used to, y’know.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “No, I don’t know,” she said cooly and he was reminded of the woman who sat in front of a room full of people and offered to arm wrestle him to prove her point. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

He respected her more because of it. 

It spurred a moment of honesty he had long forgotten he was capable of beneath the sarcasm and irreverence. 

“I’m not used to having a scientist in the unit with the combat experience you do. And I’d like to say that you being a woman doesn’t have anything to do with my misgivings either, but it does.”

Carter opened her mouth to argue, blue eyes blazing, when he held up a hand. “Wait, wait. Just hear me out.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, looking tense and ready to leap from her seat at any given moment. With the rate this apology was going, he wouldn’t blame her.

Jack hurried to continue. “It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’ve seen first hand your marksmanship. Which,” he added appreciatively, “is incredible.” 

The corners of her lips twitched at the compliment and he liked that she didn’t blush and flush at his words. She was a woman who knew her capabilities and worth. 

“But I don’t know you--didn’t know you,” he amends, voice dropping. “And I made an assumption about you based on your gender and your age and your, y’know, science stuff, and that was wrong of me.”

Carter’s face smoothed and her arms uncrossed. “Is this your way of apologizing, sir?”

She was  _teasing_  him, giving him a hard time and making him work for her approval and forgiveness. 

He grinned. “How am I doing?”

“Could be better, sir.”

That earned a laugh from him and she chuckled softly, ducking her head to hider her smile. He’d noticed her doing the same thing during the mission and that same hot part of him that liked the way she looked on a motorcycle wished she’d stop hiding that smile. 

“You’re on the team now, Sam. That’s it, end of story. You don’t have anything to prove to me.”

He stuck out his hand and, to his surprise, found that he was  _nervous_  that she may not take it, may not forgive him. 

The Captain Doctor looked down at this outstretched hand before biting her bottom lip and nodding, reaching out and fitting her hand into his. His hand swallowed hers, but he appreciated the feel of the calluses on her palms. She was a soldier and scientist who spent time in the field and her hands showed it. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Pulling his hand away, he gave her a look of surprise. “You don’t gotta thank me, Carter. I was an ass. And I’ll talk to Kawalsky,” he offered.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, sir. Kawalsky already offered to buy me drinks for the next few months. Plus,” she added, shooting him a cheeky grin. “He wanted to know if I’d be selling tickets to our armwrestling match.”

“Please tell me you took his money and ran for it.”

“That would be conduct unbecoming of an officer, sir.”

Her eyes sparkled, though, and he had a feeling there was a crisp twenty dollar bill folded neatly in the pocket of her leather jacket. He was starting to really like this Captain Doctor. 

“Then you better get going, Carter.”

He tapped twice on her handlebar and nodded, stepping back to give her room to zoom out of the garage. The bike and leather was another layer to the young Captain that he couldn’t wait to learn more about. 

“Yes, sir.”

Carter pulled her helmet from her saddlebag and put it on her head, buckling the strap beneath her chin and revving the engine. 

“And Carter? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was a pause and another rev of her engine before her helmeted-head nodded. 

“Yes, sir. You will.”

And with that, she threw her weight down on the gear shifter and twisted the throttle, leaving her commanding officer behind her in a cloud of exhaust and kicked up gravel. 

Jack watched her go with a parted mouth and a touch of awe. For first meetings and missions, it wasn’t too bad. 

And he looked forward to many, many more adventures with his new team--and Captain Doctor Samantha Carter--at his side.


	2. Enemy Within

With a heavy and worried heart, Jack left Kawalsky in the capable, evaluating hands of the SGC surgical and medical team. Despite his initial reluctance to leave retirement, it had felt good to be back around Kawalsky. He was a good man and a better friend, and Jack wasn’t ready to lose him. 

A few rows of infirmary beds down, he saw Captain Carter laid up with electrodes and wires attached to her templates and chest, a pulse oximeter clipped to her finger, and a small, feisty looking woman emphatically pushing on Carter’s shoulder to prevent her from trying to leave the bed.

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way over to his teammate. “She giving you trouble, Doctor...uh..”

“Fraiser, sir. And yes,” the doctor said with a glare, turning a sharp look onto her patient. “She needs to stay for a 24-hour observation at the minimum, sir. Concussion protocols mandate it.”

Jack turned his attention to Carter who was staring resolutely at him, her jaw clenched and chin jutted forward, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I don’t need to stay, sir. I’m  _fine.”_

 _“_ Carter, you were knocked out cold. If the doc says you should stay, you’re going to stay.”

"Is that an order, sir?”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Hey, doc, can you give us five? I promise, she’s all yours after that. Because she’ll be here, adhering to SGC med team protocol,” he said pointedly.

Dr. Frasier nodded and patted Sam’s arm softly. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”

Turning his attention back to Carter, Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanna tell me why you’re trying to jailbreak this place? Your record tells me you’re a good soldier, Carter. Not a toe out of line.”

He hoped his voice didn’t sound like such an attitude was a mystery to him. He loved the opportunities afforded to him by the military, but he had no love lost for the authority structure--a fact reflected in his own military personnel record. 

She looked surprised. “You’ve read my file, sir?”

Oh, he’d read it all right. Captain Doctor Samantha Carter who had earned herself a doctorate while actively serving and logging over a hundred hours in enemy airspace. He wanted to know who, exactly, he was dealing with. 

But she didn’t need to know how impressed he was with her. Yet.

He waved her off. “I couldn’t sleep and The Simpsons weren’t on and your file just happened to be around.”

She smiled at that and ducked her head. She did that a lot, he noticed. Hid when she was amused by him. Her smiles she gave freely to Daniel and General Hammond, but not him. Another piece of the puzzle to pick and prod at. 

“Listen, Carter, Kawalsky--or, whatever the hell is inside of him--got you pretty good. You lost consciousness and it’s like the doc said, it’s standard procedure to camp out in the infirmary for 24 hours, minimum.”

She swallowed and picked at a bare thread of the stiff blankets of the infirmary bed. “Sir, is Kawalsky going to be okay?”

The heavy, worried feeling for his friend that had abated temporarily while he was talking to her floated back to the surface and settled heavily on his chest. He thought of the way Kawalsky had screamed and cried and begged for Jack to kill him.

He swallowed hard and lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “I don’t know, Carter. I--I just don’t know.”

She bit her lip and for the first time since she’d stared at him from the lock of Kawalsky’s arms as he dragged her back into the elevator, she looked scared.

“How are we supposed to fight them, sir?”

"Well, we’ve got a secret weapon in Teal’c and we’ve got the best damn frontline team this base could hope for. Between the four of us, I think we can figure it out, don’t you think?”

This, he remembered, was easy. Leading and reassuring and bringing the confidence and swagger of a Colonel in command.

Carter looked bolstered by his words and she settled back against the pillows and sheets of the SGC infirmary bed. “Yes, sir,” she agreed, voice strong and sure. 

“But I’m  _fine,”_ she insisted, that hardened and determined look falling over her face once more. “And I’m ready to come back and help SG1 fight this thing.”

Jack surveyed her for a moment and then sighed and took a seat on the edge of the infirmary bed. “Sam, the goa’uld-ified Kawalsky knocked out about five other members of this base. You managed to fight back and alert the base before he grabbed you. If it’d been me, he woulda had me in the headlock and dragged me to the elevator, too. You did everything you were supposed to.”

She looked irritated at his assumption. “I  _know that_ , sir. I just don’t want to be taken off the playing field when I just got in.”

“And I’ll grab you off the bench and put you right back in the game when you’ve done your 24 hours in here.”

Sam opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a raised hand. “Ah, ah! That’s an order, Carter. Besides,” he said, lowering is voice into a conspiratorial tone. “Between you and me, that Doc Fraiser is a little scary and I don’t want that directed at either of us.” 

She smiled at that and ducked her head again, hiding the full intensity of a Carter smile. This--making her laugh and smile--was quickly becoming something he was rather enjoying. He told himself it wasn’t flirting--no matter how attractive she was. 

She was his teammate and he would protect her, watch out for her, just like he would for Teal’c and Daniel and Kawalsky. And that included cheering her up and ordering her to take care of herself.

He stood and patted her leg in consolation. “I’ll come get you in 24, Carter. Promise.”

“You better, sir.”

He grinned at the tinge of sullenness in her tone and, for the first time, realized there was more to her than her by-the-book file would indicate. 

He pointed a finger at her. “23 and 54 minutes to go, Carter.”

“I’m counting down the hours, sir,” she said dryly.

At this, he was the one to laugh softly to himself and duck his head away from her as he walked away and back towards Kawalsky’s bedside. 

He liked people who kept him guessing, who kept him intrigued, and Samantha Carter was serving on both fronts. Between Carter and Teal’c and Daniel, Jack had a feeling SG1 was going to be a force to be reckoned with. 

Those damn goa’uld wouldn’t stand a chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc early sam/jack is hard to write. also i've decided the least obnoxious approach for these will be to make each season it's own story. so at the end of season 1 i'll just post a new s2 collection and so on and so forth. also i already regret the title of this fic but here we are


	3. Emancipation

Jack prided himself on being a good commander. He may not have the brains for astrophysics like Carter, the diplomacy skills of Daniel, or the overwhelming strength of Teal’c, but he had experience and guts and people skills. 

It was like his own personal superpower and now, after SG1′s last mission with the Shavadai, his spidey senses were tingling that something was  _wrong_  in his unit. And that he had somehow miscalculated, misstepped somewhere. 

Maybe he was rustier coming back out of retirement than he thought. 

He found Carter in the gym, her headphones in and a single-minded focus directed at the punching bag in front of her--the punching bag taking the brunt of her Level 3 advanced hand-to-hand combat skills. 

Grimacing, he made his way over to her and grabbed the punching bag and holding it steady for her. She looked annoyed at his intrusion and he again felt that he had made a miscalculation. Maybe she needed more time to cool down and process what had--or almost had--happened to her. 

Carter pulled the headphones from her ears and addressed him with a polite, but impersonal, “Sir.”

“Do I wanna know if that’s my face or Turghan’s you’re envisioning while beating the crap outta this bag?”

She sighed and placed her wrapped hands on her hips. “Was there something you needed, Colonel?”

He twirled and twisted the punching bag in his hands. The weighted feeling of shame and regret in his gut reminded him of the way he felt when apologizing to Sara and asking to come out of the doghouse. A doghouse he fully deserved to be in, he reminded himself.

 _“_ I, ah, wanted to check in on you. Simarka was rough.”

“Rougher on some than on others,” she responded coolly. 

_Ah, hell._

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked cautiously. 

She let out a derisive bark of laughter and turned away from him for a moment before turning back on her heel sharply. Her eyes were bright with anger and he suddenly felt that he was about to be dressed down by a subordinate officer the way a cadet would be chewed out at the Academy.

“Permission to speak freely,  _sir_?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course, Cart--”

“Do we have a problem here?,” she interrupted. “Because I can’t figure why the hell my opinion doesn’t count for a damn out in the field.”

“Now wait a minute, Carter. That’s just not tru--”

But she wasn’t having it. Whatever tenuous trust they had developed in the first weeks of SG1′s formation had been rattled and she was laying it out for him. 

“It is true. I  _told_  you that we should have gone back the moment the locals pulled weapons on us and demanded I be killed simply for being a woman. But you didn’t listen to me, you listened to Daniel. I  _told_  you I couldn’t move in that dress--couldn’t defend myself--and you left me behind anyway.”

Jack’s chest felt tight with remorse at her pointed words. He knew first hand what it was like to be left behind and to fall into enemy hands. And he had done that to her--even if it wasn’t intentional.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I screwed up. Big time, apparently.”

She surveyed him and shook her head to herself, looking down at her feet. It looked startlingly like she was giving up, like she didn’t know what else she could do.

“It could have been a lot worse for me out there, you know,” she said softly. 

Ice flooded his veins. “Did Turghan--did he--you said he didn’t, but...”

“No,” she reinforced. “He didn’t. But he wanted to. I could  _feel_  it, Colonel. And I was left alone to defend myself from it because my team--my commander--didn’t  _listen_  to me.”

Carter punched half-heartedly at the bag he was still holding and he let out a small  _oof._  “So now I’m just trying to figure out if I should put in my request for a transfer now or not. Because I can’t do this, Colonel. I won’t be the eye candy or the backdrop for you three while we travel across the galaxy. I’m a United States Air Force officer with all the training and skill and  _respect_  that comes with.”

Jack watched as she drew herself up to her full height and put the full force of her unflinching gaze upon him. 

“And I  _will_  have my voice heard, Colonel. And if that’s a problem, then I’ll hand Hammond the transfer papers now.”

She stared at him defiantly and any doubts he had about her--unconsciously there or not--evaporated. He needed to know she would tell him when he was wrong--a military check that neither Daniel nor Teal’c could provide. He would do better by her, and all of SG1. 

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t put your papers in. I’ll do better going forward, I promise you that, Carter. But don’t leave. You deserve to be on the frontline team. You’ve earned it and,” he sighed to himself, self-reflection and her words settling and seeping into his bones. “And I should have recognized that and heard you when you were speaking-- _really_  heard you, I mean.”

She watched him carefully, searching for any hint of condescension or deception. Finally, after a long, searching minute, she nodded. 

“Thank you.”

He gripped the sides of the punching bag and winced. “I’m apologizing a lot to you lately, it seems.”

She  _hmmed_  in response and readjusted the tape on her knuckles and wrists. “I only accept so many apologies, Colonel.”

It was another warning. One he took seriously. 

“I hear you, Captain,” he said sincerely before grinning. “See? I’m learning already. Old dog, new tricks and all that.”

She rolled her eyes at him and fell back into a fighting stance, effectively dismissing him. “Was there anything else you needed, sir?”

He looked between her and the punching bag before gripping the bag more tightly. “Nope,” he said, popping the  _p_  sound. “But if you want I can hold this here bag while you beat the crap out of it. And,” he added with a sly grin. “If it  _is_  my very handsome face you’re envisioning on this bag, no one would fault you if you missed the bag and decked me on accident, of course.”

At this, she finally grinned and rolled her shoulders back before popping her headphones back into her ears and nodded sagely at him. “Of course, sir. A complete accident.”

Later, in the commissary with his team--Daniel and Teal’c and Carter happily talking about the plan for their upcoming mission--Jack pressed an icepack to his rapidly swelling left eye, and thought:  _Finally._

His unit wasn’t cohesive, wasn’t a  _family._  But they were on their way. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.....hate this episode. and i'm tired of making jack apologize--even though he 1000000% deserves to apologize in all these scenarios. man i forgot what a drag the first 7 eps of S1 are. but hang in there fam! we have a long way to go until the good stuff.


	4. Broca Divide

The all-night and all-day diner a few miles off the base was becoming no stranger to the string of weary and bleary-eyed soldiers coming off watch and streaming down from Cheyenne Mountain. 

 

The food was greasy and stuck to your bones and the coffee was hot. In short, it was the perfect dive diner to have a conversation that may or may not be strictly classified.

 

Jack plucked the menu from Daniel’s hands and flashed a charming smile at the waitress who looked on at the pair of them dispassionately. 

 

“Two coffees and your largest omelettes, please,” he said, ignoring Daniel’s half-hearted protest (“Oh, actually, I don’t like om—“). 

 

But the waitress was already gone, leaving the two men behind with steaming cups of coffee in the corner booth, the vinyl seats creaking as they shifted in their seats and made up their preferred coffee tastes. Black for Daniel and copious amounts of sugar and creamer for Jack. 

 

Grimacing at the bitter, sour taste of the diner coffee, Daniel put his mug down. “How you feeling, Jack?” 

 

“Oh, y’know, the occasional grunt every once in a while.” A self-deprecating smile. “Nothing new there, I guess.”

 

Daniel rolled his eyes at his friend’s typical defecting, self-deprecating humor. “Yeah, well, I still have a craving for raw turkey legs, so not sure I’m completely recovered from the Touched either, thanks for asking.” 

 

Jack grunted and began stacking the sweetener packets in alternating colors—pink, white, yellow, pink, white, yellow.

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the trip out of the mountain, but what the hell are we doing here, Jack?”

 

Gritting his teeth and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Jack crumpled the sugar packets in his hand and tossed them back into the container at the end of the table. Leaning back in the booth, he crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the young doctor.

 

“The thing is, Danny boy, you were on Abydos a long time. And maybe you’ve forgotten the finer points of human interaction, so I just wanted to remind you.”

 

Daniel furrowed his brow, confused. Jack’s tone was deceptively light and easy-going, but his eyes were hard and his jaw was set. 

 

“Okay,” Daniel said slowly, drawing the word out in confusion. “I’m not sure what—“

 

The waitress’ arrival interrupted them, sliding giant omelettes stuffed to the brim with bacon and cheese and vegetables in front of each of them. Jack dug in immediately, shoveling a few heaping bites of piping hot food into his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing even faster. 

 

Daniel picked at the edges of his in disdain, spearing some mushroom and potato on his fork and taking a half-hearted bite. 

 

“SG1 is a military team, Daniel,” Jack continued, focus alternating between his food and his friend. “I wouldn’t say this to you in the middle of an op, but we aren’t traversing the galaxy to study ancient cultures like animals in a zoo.”

 

“I still don’t follow—“

 

“‘No, don’t. It’s how they probably had sex—forcibly.’,” Jack paraphrase with a stern look. “Carter was right. It was rape and if we didn’t have incoming hostiles at the time, I would’ve told you to sit your ass down while we took care of it.” He swallowed another hefty bite of omelette before leaning back and sipping at his coffee. 

 

Daniel blinked at him from behind his glasses, mouth agape. “Jack, I wasn’t _condoning_ it. I’m just saying, in the prehistoric days, that _is_ how mating happened and—“

 

“Ack! Daniel! You’re not listening to me.” He leaned forward again, maintaining eye contact. “This _isn’t_ the ‘pre-historic’ days. It’s _today._ And we’ve got a long way to go on SG1. We’re gonna run into a lot of cultures with practices we aren’t going to just stand by and watch because it’s their _culture._ And when a member of my team— _our_ —team, says something’s wrong, we’re going to listen to them. Capeesh?”

 

“Oh come on, Jack. I did listen to Sam. And she agreed with me! She wanted to stay and study the culture.”

 

“Yes,” Jack conceded. “She did. But she _didn’t_ want to stick around for a front row seat to the rape of a woman. And I don’t either, for that matter. I want this team together, Daniel. I want you to apologize to Carter.”

 

“What! Apologize? C’mon, Jack. Sam knew I didn’t mean anything. She’s a scientist. She gets it.”

 

“I don’t care if she can recite the history of the Broca Divide and the ancient laws of archaeology and anthropology—“

 

“That’s really not how that works, but okay.”

 

“—I want you to apologize,” Jack said forcefully, ignoring Daniel’s snarky comment. 

 

“Fine,” Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair and tossing his fork down onto his plate. Jack frowned at the amount of food still left on Daniel’s plate. The man had been running himself down ragged in the SGC labs, chugging coffee and energy bars. He’d have to make an effort to drag Daniel and the rest of SG1 to the commissary. 

 

“Trust me, Daniel. Apologizing to Carter is something I’m intimately acquainted with. You’ll do fine. But, uh, just in case, watch out for her left hook.”

 

Jack hid a smile into the rim of his coffee cup as he took a sip at the sight of Daniel’s wide, alarmed eyes. 

 

He nodded across the diner to their waitress and gestured for the check. Daniel cleared his throat and pulled his own coffee towards him, swirling the contents absentmindedly. 

 

“Speaking of apologies,” Daniel said. “How are things with you and Sam? Since, y’know? The, uh, incident?”

 

_Want you. You want me?_

 

_Not like this._

 

Jack dipped his finger into his coffee, picking at a non-existent speck of dust and avoiding the younger man’s eyes. In truth, he’d worked very, _very_ hard to ensure things weren’t strange or weird or awkward between him and Carter.

 

Because she _was_ attractive—there was no denying it—and exactly his type and if he wasn’t her commander and she wasn’t the SGC’s greatest asset and things were different. Well…

 

But things _weren’t_ different. And it didn’t matter that he thought about the hot, wet pressure of her lips against his; the insistent feel of her fingers in his hair, tugging at the short strands; the weight of her body against his as she undulated against him. 

 

He meant what he said to Daniel, though. Despite the initial rush and thrill of having her in his ams, it wasn’t _her._ Not really. And if and when she kissed him, he wanted both of them to be in their right minds. 

 

SG1 was more important than the fleeting daydreams he had about her. 

 

“We’re _fine_ , thanks for asking. And,” he said with a pointed finger. “I don’t want you bringing it up to her. It’s behind us and we’re moving on. Right?”

 

He took the bill from the waitress with a quick smile and pulled a couple of bills from his wallet, tucking the money into the bifold. 

 

“We’ve got something special here, Daniel,” he said softly. “It’s been a rough start but we’re finding our feet. Apologize and make it right and let’s move on.”

 

The scientist murmured his agreement, already slipping behind the walls of his own mind and formulating the words he was going to say to Sam. Jack leaned back and drained the last of the coffee in his mug and alternated gazing out the window and watching Daniel closely. 

 

The jacket of command was slipping back over his shoulders as he navigated these intricacies of teamwork. Iraq and his previous tours didn’t have caveman viruses and ancient cultures coming back to life, but insensitive comments and conflicting personalities and desires wasn’t anything new. 

 

He could do this. 

_SG1_ could do this.


	5. First Commandment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the passion of one million suns, I wish I knew more about Sam/Jonas and their history. I know the past chapters were post-eps, but this is a "missing scene" chapter. There are SOME references to alleged abuse--mostly emotional. I am in zero way an authority on abuse and I 100% apologize if I have thoroughly botched this. This is my personal take/headcanon on both Sam and Sam/Jonas. Anywhozles, hope you enjoy!

“Turn it on,” Jonas commanded, an ugly sneer curling the lips she had once kissed without a thought. “Or I’ll shoot him.”

A jolt of panic ran through her as she looked from the muzzle of Jonas’ gun to the Colonel, bound and hostage in front of her. Jonas was selfish, careless, and sometimes violent. But she had never pegged him for a murderer. She had to try to get through to him, convince him that this was crazy and they should return to the SGC.

“Jonas,” she said slowly, keeping her voice light and pleading. “Let’s just--”

“No, let’s  _not_ , Samantha. Turn. It. On. Or I’ll shoot him.”

He punctuated his words with the cock of the pistol, his thumb reaching up and pulling back on the hammer. Sam looked to the Colonel, wordlessly asking for direction:  _Fight or comply?_

The Colonel tilted his head, ever so slightly, and flicked his eyes to the device Jonas had uncovered. Calm, pensive brown eyes met hers and with a single look she heard him loud and clear:  _Do what he says for now._

She nodded in understanding and dropped to her knees without thought to obey his order. She may know Jonas--or, thought she knew Jonas--but she trusted the Colonel. 

 _“Oh,”_  Jonas breathed out, his features twisting with an apparent sick realization, as his eyes drifted between the Colonel and herself. “Well, well, well Samantha. I should have realized you would have moved on by now.”

His derisive laughter bounced off the walls of the rocky cave, making her flinch. From her position kneeling on the dirt floor, Sam could do little else but watch as Jonas strode over to her, still in control of the situation, gun still in hand. 

Rough, dirty fingers gripped her chin and cheek, squeezing so her lips puckered. Jonas turned her face towards the Colonel as Sam’s heart sank to her stomach. She had seen this look in Jonas’ eyes more than a few times. 

Whatever it was that was broken and unfixable within him had flipped on like a switch, as if a trigger had been pulled. His eyes were hard and mean. 

“Y’know Colonel O’Neill, you’re more her type than you think,” he said in mock pensiveness. “Older, in a position of command, that black ops past. Am I right? And to really top it off, I bet you have some tragic backstory that our dear, Samantha here,” he shook her chin a little for emphasis, “can’t help but poke at until you’re all healed up.”

Sam tried to wrench out of his grasp, anger and shame clawing at her. “Jonas,” she ground out. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I think it  _is,_  Samantha. I know what I saw there. You always did like following orders a little  _too_  much.”

Jonas turned his attention back to the Colonel who stood immobile, hands still bound and surrounded by Jonas’ men. But Sam could see that his hands were clenched into tight fists and his shoulders were pulled back, tense and ready. 

“Captain Carter follows orders less than you might think,” the Colonel said, voice kept purposefully light but with force behind it--a warning. It was a fair enough statement. She certainly hadn’t exactly followed orders on this particular mission. 

Jonas cocked his head to the side and considered the Colonel for a moment before letting out a single, harsh bark of laughter. He stood from his kneeling position next to Sam and placed his hand on top of her head, fingertips pressing into her scalp--a warning all his own. 

“Oh, I know exactly how often she follows orders, Colonel. And what she likes when she disobeys. Trust me, she’s more familiar with those restraints around your wrists than you are.”

Humiliation, hot and fierce, burned under her skin causing her to pink up all over. She tried to duck her head to hide herself from the Colonel, but Jonas’ grip was tight on the top of her head and she couldn’t move. 

“Knock if off, Jonas,” she said sharply, trying to regain some semblance of control of the situation. It was a mistake, she now realized, thinking she could fix Jonas, try to help him. She should never have been on this mission in the first place. She should have--

And then the cool steel of Jonas’ gun was pressing to the side of her cheek and the Colonel made a sudden jerking motion towards them both. 

“Hanson!” the Colonel shouted in warning, his bound hands reaching out for them both, even as Jonas’ men quickly yanked him back as Jonas laughed. 

She flinched as Jonas leveled the gun back on the Colonel and leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear in a way she had once shivered in pleasure at. “Turn on the damn device, Sam. Or I spill a few more of your secrets before I shoot him.”

Sam didn’t know how she had once loved this man, had once worn his ring. She wondered where it had all gone so wrong for him--for them. She wished she could have saved him, even if she knew, logically, that it would have been impossible, that it wouldn’t have been her responsibility in the first place.

But what she  _could_  do was save herself and the Colonel and the people of this planet now. And she would do just that--humiliation or no.

“Get your gun out of my face,” she ordered him, heart hammering in her chest so hard it was almost painful. She was done taking orders from this man. 

Jonas pressed an invasive, skin-crawling kiss to the side of her head. “Good girl.”

And then he was gone, leaving her shaken and rattled on the cave floor with a standard toolkit and the device he was so desperate to turn on. She looked up from her position on her knees towards the Colonel who was being restrained fully by Jonas’ men, their arms wrapped around him and pulling him back towards a darkened corner of the cave. 

“Take care of it, Carter,” he called out, giving Jonas’ men hell as he refused to go willingly anywhere. She met his eyes and felt a renewed sense of strength. This man believed in her. 

She wouldn’t let him down.

_____________________________

Later, after Jonas was dead and gone and there was a strange riot of conflicting tangle of emotions settling in her chest, after they had come through the Stargate and been summarily dismissed to infirmary for evaluation, after she had been declared physically fit and escaped to the locker rooms in the center of the SGC, the Colonel found her. 

She’d felt his eyes on her since their conversation, however fleeting, in the immediate aftermath. Those brown eyes of his--the ones that were starting to bring her a certain sense of comfort and strength that could  _almost_  be classified as crush-worthy--searched her face for a sign that she didn’t bear any guilt for not being able to kill the man she had once loved.

She had felt those eyes on her while Dr. Fraiser poked and prodded her slightly sunburned skin and admonished her for not using the military-grade zinc oxide provided to all of them. 

And now, sitting on the hard wooden bench in the middle of the locker room with his leg bumping hers, she felt his eyes and attention settle on her fully. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, voice soft. Around them, the other SG teams wandered in and out of showers, noisily gearing up and chattering amongst themselves as they get ready to disembark on their next adventure. 

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked stiffly. They had taken so many giant strides forward in their relationship. After a rough start, she felt they had finally understood each other, were on equal footing. 

And now he knew. He  _knew_  what she liked, knew she liked to be ordered around, tied up. After all of her threats to arm wrestle for dominance, after all of her attempts to showboat and  _show_  him how capable and in control and strong she was, he  _knew_  that at the end of the day, between the sheets, she ceded control and power. 

Panic spun through her veins as she tried to figure out how to reassert herself, reassure him that just because she liked her sex a certain kind of way didn’t  _mean_  anything.

And then he surprised her. 

“Did he hit you, Sam?” he asked softly. Those eyes of his settled on hers, searching and fierce. “When you said he could be mean, did he--”

“No,” she answered quickly, surprised. “I mean, he could be rough sometimes, y’know, but he never out and out hit me.” She ducked her head and plucked at an invisible thread on her BDU pants. “It all just spiraled so quickly, sir. We were good once and then he had this, this  _darkness_  inside him. And I just couldn’t pull him out of it.”

Tears stung at her eyes unexpectedly. The riot of emotions were slowly untangling themselves from beneath her breastbone, leaving her feeling exposed and raw. 

She needed to get out of here. There was a glass--or bottle, she thought ruefully--waiting for her at home. Sam needed the darkness of her home, the soft warmth of her favorite pajamas, and her favorite bubble bath to soothe some of the ache and humiliation of the day.

“Okay,” the Colonel said, nodding to himself. “Just so you know, Carter. The crap Hanson was spewing earlier? We’ll chalk it up to radiation sickness on his part. He was talking crazy. No need to add it to the report, obviously.” He grinned crookedly at her, eyes crinkling. “I never heard a thing. And even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered a damn.”

She stared at him, eyes wide. Relief flooded her. Much like the Broca incident, this was another humiliation he wouldn’t hold against her. 

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. 

The Colonel nodded and clapped his hands against his thighs and stood, leaving her to her thoughts. “Oh!” he exclaimed, turning back towards her and digging into the deep pocket of his BDUs and pulling out a long tube and tossed it at her.

She caught it and turned it over in her hands. It was extra strength burn cream, prescription courtesy of Janet. 

“Make sure you take care of yourself tonight, Sam.”

This time her stomach did flutter at the soft, concerned look in his eyes. She knew he meant take care of more than just the burn that was itching and peeling at her nose and shoulders and neck. 

She smiled at him and curled her fingers around the tube, cradling it to her chest.

“Yes, sir.”

It was an order she was more than happy to receive and follow. 


	6. Cold Lazarus

There was a pack of cigarettes buried in the bottom drawer of his bedside table that he promised himself he wouldn’t touch. But Jack could feel the itch to drag it out and light one up start to settle under his skin. He wanted to inhale the dark and smoky flavor between sips of even darker beer—anything to fill his lungs with something besides the clawing, aching, overwhelming _pain_ that had settled in his chest. 

 

Charlie’s face staring back at him from an alien entity had felt like a fresh reprint of pain and memory against his heart, pounding and contracting with each beat. He _knew_ it wasn’t his son. But it had felt so real—his little hand in Jack’s larger one, clutching tightly like Charlie used to whenever they crossed the road or on their way to a little league game. In between aching beats of _Charlie Charlie Charlie_ , he remembered Sara’s face, too. He remembered how good his life once had been, how he had had the love of a woman and a son and a warm home. 

 

Around him, the background noise of the television—another _Simpsons_ rerun to fill the silence—and the occasional chime of his clock reminded him how oppressive and silent his house really was, how empty. 

 

He was getting ready to drain the last dredges of the lukewarm beer from the bottom of his bottle and finally crack and pull out that forgotten pack of cigarettes and light up when there was a rattling, cracking sound of knuckles against the front door.

 

He should be more surprised than he is when he opened the door to find the rest of SG-1 gathered on his front door step. Teal’c was still sporting his Chicago ball cap, Carter had an armful of brown paper grocery bags, and Daniel was front and center, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning nervously.

 

“Guys,” he greeted slowly, nodding at each of them and opening the door wider, gesturing them in with a sign and a sweep of his arm. “No, please, come in.”

 

They piled into his hallway and Jack directed them to the kitchen while Daniel babbled. “We just figured if this were any other job and we had a day like today, well, there would at least be happy hour involved. But with Teal’c and, y’know, the whole alien thing, we figured we’d bring happy hour to you and—“

 

“Ack! Daniel!” The younger man looked wounded for a moment and he could feel Teal’c and Carter’s careful gaze on him, like baby deer that may startle with the slightest movement. He was still feeling tender and exposed and he’s not entirely sure he's ready to have a house full of people right now, but then he saw the beer and sausages in Carter’s hands and Teal’c’s none-too-subtle observation of everything in his home and the way Daniel was staring at him with sympathy and a too-open set of listening ears and he gives in.

 

“Thanks, guys,” he says quietly. Something tense breaks in the room and everyone seems to release a little sigh, like they weren’t quite sure they’d be welcome and are relieved to learn they were wrong. 

 

Daniel placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeezes once, briefly, in support. Out of all of his team members, Daniel knows the most about Charlie and Sara. He twists his lips in thought, torn between wanting to rip the bandaid off and tell his team everything that they had probably already guessed and between shooing them all out into the living room, stealing the sausages and beers that Carter is astutely and methodically assembling besides the stove top, and hiding a little while longer.

 

He opts for an in-between approach, tosses his now-empty beer bottle into the trash can, before taking up residence next to Carter and reaching for the fresh beers.

 

Jack whistles. “Boy, Carter. You know how to help a guy drown his sorrows.”

 

The Guinness is the good kind—extra stout, extra foamy. 

 

“It’s always worked for me, sir.”

 

As Carter passes out the other cans of Guinness (Daniel takes it tentatively and Teal’c takes it with a raised brow of interest), Jack can’t help but wonder what kinds of sorrows Carter has had to drown in her past. 

 

It’s a stark reminder that for all the months and months of off-world exploration, debriefings, and training sessions, he doesn’t know her. Or Teal’c. Or Daniel, for that matter. He knows they’re good people, knows he can trust them in the field. 

 

But with this? With the dark, stained secrets of his past? He’s still not sure. 

 

“O’Neill, I believe I require another drink.”

 

At this, Jack laughed and walked over to clap the big Jaffa on the back and take his empty can from him. “Buddy, why don’t we pace ourselves?”

 

Teal’c bowed his head in deference to his guidance and he clapped him on the back once more, strangely glad for the space the man took up in his home. 

 

“Listen, Daniel, why don’t you show Teal’c around. Y’know, highlight the finer points of human technology and home entertainment. I’ll help Carter here get the sausages going and then we can all meet for a little team pow-wow.”

 

Daniel rolled his eyes but helped lead Teal’c towards the television where Homer was stuffing his face with pink sprinkle donuts. Jack overheard Teal’c’s question to Daniel as they moved into the living room: “Daniel Jackson, what is a ‘pow-wow’?”

 

He shook his head, smiling, before clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Right, hot dogs. Let’s do it, Carter.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She handed him the package of sausages in deference and he took them without thought, fingers brushing over hers. He pulled out the grill pan from the drawer beneath the stove, already grumbling about true hot dogs needing to be grilled over a fire and coals. 

 

“You sound like my father, sir,” Carter said, eyes immediately going wide at her words. “Not that I think you’re _like_ my father. I just meant—“ She cut herself off by taking a sip of her beer to gather her thoughts. “My father also prefers to grill his hot dogs, and well, all meats, over the grill.”

Jack ignored her pink cheeks and cranked the heat beneath the grill pan and turned to lean his hip against the countertop as they waited for the pan to heat up. 

 

“I like him already, Carter,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does old dad do?”

 

Her eyes darted away and her lips twisted in thought, bottom lip caught between her teeth in thought. That was interesting, he thought. Most people didn’t hesitate with that type of information. It was another layer of intrigue to her. He liked intrigue. 

 

She took another healthy sip of her beer before clearing her throat. “He’s, uh, actually a Major General in the Air Force, sir.”

 

“Oh yeah? Doing what?”

 

“That’s classified,” she said with a wry grin and a shrug of her shoulders. “You know how it is.”

 

Jack nodded, “Yeah, I do.” He turned back and grabbed the knife from the block on the counter and sliced open the sausage packaging, pulling each link out and dropping them onto the now-sizzling pan. 

 

Beside him, he could feel Carter’s eyes on him and he sighed, turning back towards her, eyes flicking occasionally to the browning meat on the pan. “What is it, Carter?”

 

Her eyes went wide at the direct address and she looked like she was struggling to not fiddle with the tab of her beer can as a distraction. Finally, he saw the set of her jaw flex before she met his gaze. 

 

“I’m sorry about your son,” she said softly. “Daniel told me.”

 

He felt his own jaw flex in irritation. He knew it would have come out eventually, but it was _his_ to tell. Not Daniel’s. He still didn’t know his SG-1 team members yet, not in a way that made him feel comfortable sharing something as personal as _that._

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not something I like to talk about.”

 

Jack turned back to the pan and pushed the sausages over, half because it was time to do so and half because he wanted something to do that wasn't looking at Carter’s big blue pity filled eyes. 

 

“Daniel also said you didn’t want to tell me, tell SG-1,” she corrected hastily, “was because you didn’t _know_ us, yet.”

 

“Daniel sure does say a lot,” he grumbled, pushing the sausages around the pan before sighing and facing her again, palms up in supplication. “Look, Carter, it’s nothing personal. But I’m just not a touchy-feely kinda guy and if I _am_ gonna get all, y’know, sappy, it’s not going to be just with anyone.”

 

She studied him for a moment before nodding and leaning against the counter herself, working on splitting open the package of hot dog buns and assembling them on a plate. 

“Okay, then. Ask me anything.”  


He blinked at her. “What?”

 

“What do you want to know? I’m not looking to get sappy here, Colonel, but I should know you and you should know me. What if we have another impersonator make its way through the Stargate again? I’m second-in-command. I should be able to figure out when something is off with you.”

 

He blinked slowly at her again. He hadn’t considered their team camaraderie from a _strategic_ standpoint and he was pleasantly pleased—and a touch proud—that Sam did. 

 

“What, like, we should have a passcode or something?”

 

She shrugged and grinned. “If you like. But it may also just be easier to actually get to know each other.”

 

He pulled down a plate from the cabinet to his right and began picking up the sausages from the pan with his bare fingers, hissing slightly at the flare of heat in his fingertips. She _tsked_ softy next to him but took the plate of sausages from him in one hand and her plate of buns in the other and made her way towards the table. 

 

“Daniel! Teal’c! Come and get it!”

 

She glanced at him before pointing at the refrigerator. “Ketchup?”

 

He nodded and grabbed the remainders of the Guinnesses and put a fresh can at each place setting around the table. It was the first time in over a year that all four seats were set, the first time he hadn’t eaten dinner hunched over the kitchen sink or from his place on the couch. It was…nice.

 

“Oh, _sir_ ,” Carter exclaimed, head popping up from behind the refrigerator door. “We may need to call an SGC decontamination team here. You’ve got spores growing in here that I haven’t even seen before,” she teased.

 

He glared at her before pointing a finger at her. “Watch it, Captain.”

 

But she just grinned and breezed past him, arms full of possibly expired ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. 

 

Teal’c and Daniel entered the kitchen, Daniel explaining to Teal’c about Area 51, Mulder and Scully, and The X-Files. 

 

“That is a generally false representation of alien life, though, Daniel Jackson.”

 

Daniel laughed and pulled a chair out for Carter and Teal’c before sitting down at the table himself. “Yeah, well, that’s television for you, Teal’c. Entertainment first.”

 

Teal’c hummed deeply in consideration before turning his attention to the food on the table with bright, curious eyes, watching as Sam and Daniel loaded up their own hot dogs. 

 

“Go for it, buddy,” Jack told him, nudging his friend and teammate with his foot beneath the table in encouragement. 

 

Jack leaned back and watched as Daniel slathered his hot dog in a disgusting amount of mayonnaise and relish, Teal’c assembled four different hot dogs for himself in varying accoutrements, and Sam kept it simple with ketchup and mustard only. 

 

If nothing else, he learned two things tonight: how his team took their hot dogs and that he _had_ a team. 

 

A team he could rely on, a team he could trust to be there for him, a team that wouldn’t leave him alone after a harrowing and emotional mission.

 

Maybe Carter would go for the secret hot dog passcode. But maybe, just maybe, she was right. He could get to know his team. 

 

For the first time in a long time, his house was filled with noise and laughter and chatter and _warmth._ It was more than he had hoped to have a year ago and he would fight like hell to keep this little growing family of his together. 

 

No matter the cost. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: the cost is gonna be the opportunity for love and happiness when he realizes he loveeeeees sam. clunky post-ep for a frankly emotional episode that needed some levity at the end. god, i forgot how good cold lazarus is.


	7. The Nox

Jack slid the knife he kept strapped to his ankle for emergencies out from beneath his rolled up pant leg, grinning in triumph that the Nox hadn’t managed to take it from him. The pile of birch branches that he and Carter had collected from the forest floor earlier sat nestled in a bunch beside him. 

 

He took the largest and sturdiest looking branch from the pile and stood it between his legs, eyeing it and trying to envision where he needed to whittle and carve to turn it into a bow. It had been years since he’d done this, but he figured it was like riding a bike. Or at least, he hoped it was. 

 

Even if it turned out to be a facsimile of a weapon, it was as Carter said earlier: Any weapon was better than no weapon. 

 

Beside him on the secluded log bench, his second-in-command mimicked his actions and slid her own knife out from her matching ankle sheath. Despite earlier misgivings about having a _scientist_ in the field, Carter was proving herself more and more military every day. SG-1 was an odd mishmash of personalities and backgrounds and he was finding a growing sense of comfort to not be the only military member of their unusual team.

 

More often than not, it was Carter who kept him company on early morning watches, Carter who mixed MREs and instant coffee and took stock of supplies and strategized with him, Carter who stood at his side with her weapon at the ready, Carter who was there with an answer or a tactic or a plan when he needed one. 

 

And now, it was Carter who sat beside him and whittled at her own branches, sharpening them into approximations of an arrow that they could use against Apophis. Jack watched her out of the corner of his eye and felt a swell of affection for his second as her brow furrowed in absolute and complete concentration at the task ahead of her, tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth. 

 

Jack turned his attention back to his own branch and began cutting and peeling away the layers of thick, dry bark that wouldn’t be any good for his needs. He wanted to get at the flexible, slightly soft wood within and then make a few notches on either end so he could string it. 

 

“How ya doin’ over there, Carter?”

 

She held up the arrow in proud triumph for his inspection. “Well, sir, we aren’t going to win any archery contests, but they’ll do under the circumstances.”

 

He nodded his approval. “‘That’ll do’ is all we need for now. Keep going. I want at least ten apiece. Get Daniel to help you make them, if you need it.”

 

She shook her head, dropping the first finished arrow at her side and picking up the next branch to begin working on the second arrow. “He’s out walking and talking with Opher, sir. Besides,” she grinned, shooting him a knowing look. “I’m not sure this is a particular field of expertise for Daniel.”

 

Jack snorted and twirled the branch in his hands, flipping it upside down so he could work on the bottom half of the quickly-forming bow. “Out of curiosity, how is this _your_ area of expertise, Carter? Last time I checked, woodworking wasn’t part of standard survival classes.”

 

To his surprise, Carter remained silent. He glanced over at her and noticed she was studiously looking at the arrow in her hands, her cheeks stained pink, and her bottom lip was sucked between her teeth. 

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Carter?”

 

She risked a look at him before refocusing on the task at hand. “It’s, uh, kind of embarrassing, sir.”

 

“More embarrassing than that time on P3X-595 when you drank that stuff that made you take off your—“

 

“ _Alright!_ No, not that embarrassing. It’s just—“ She sighed and then turned to face him, the second arrow completed and joining the first in the pile between them. “My freshman year of high school, I wanted to take auto shop so I could help my dad restore this old Indian we’d had in the garage for ages. Except freshman couldn’t enroll in auto class and I needed to fill an elective slot and, well, there was this boy—Jimmy—and I heard that he was taking wood shop and so—“

 

Jack let out a bark of laughter. “Carter, just when I think you can’t surprise me any more….”

 

He turned thoughtful, trying to imagine a fifteen-year old Samantha Carter mooning over a boy and trying to catch his attention. He wanted to pry further, to know more about who she had been before he’d come to know her. But her cheeks were a pretty pink with embarrassment and he couldn’t quite bring himself to rib her any further.

 

He nudged her shoulder with his own and teased, “Well, we’ll have to track Jimmy down when we get home and write him a thank you letter.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him, ignoring his comment, and leaned down to continue whittling and sharpening the stack of sticks in front of her.

 

Since their team night a few weeks ago after the fiasco with the Unity and the alien impersonating him and Charlie, SG-1 had been better about offering up tidbits of personal information—how Daniel liked his coffee, that Teal’c loved Starburst and bribed the commissary crew to sneak them beneath the mountain. 

 

And now he knew that Carter had had a crush on a boy named Jimmy, had apparently aced her high school wood shop class (as if she had the ability to fail), and could whittle a mean looking arrow out of fallen branches and twigs. 

 

Jack considered offering up his own woodworking story. He could tell her that he and Charlie had gone on a father-son camping retreat with his local Boy Scouts troop and they’d sat side-by-side on a fallen tree log, much like he and Carter were doing now, beside a crackling campfire as they listened to their instructor teach them about carving. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam enough to confide this in her—he did. It was just that memories of Charlie were still fresh and instead of bringing comfort as he knew they would one day, they still stung like alcohol on a fresh wound. 

 

This moment, though, Carter sharing embarrassing high school stories and backing his tactical plan up and carving arrows beside him, was a good companion memory—a balm for the stinging ache of Charlie’s memory. 

 

With a satisfied nod, he raised the completed carved arrow up for his and Carter’s inspection. “Not too shabby,” he commented, standing and searching for the spool of fishing string he kept in his vest pocket. It wasn’t necessarily an ideal material to use to string a bow, but it’d have to do today. 

 

“Sir, you _do_ know how to fire one of these things, right?”

 

He looked at her, affronted. “Carter, of course I do. What kind of question—“

 

She held her hands up in supplication, dropping the third arrow at her side. “Alright, alright. Just asking.”

 

He watched her begin working on her fourth arrow, then turned and considered the bow in his hands. 

 

Shit, he was going to have to practice. He had _no_ idea how to use this thing. 


	8. Brief Candle

It starts with the bottle of vitamins on his desk. 

The label is platinum and shiny and declares it’s for the elderly and guaranteed to prolong life, reduce joint paint, and put back the spring that’s been missing from each step. 

It’s been a week since SG-1′s return from Argos and his team has very studiously--until this moment--been avoiding the topic. They don’t discuss his time as a centenarian, his prostate problem is ignored, and they definitely  _don’t_  talk about the fact that he was drugged and dragged off for a night he didn’t want or ask for.

He’s still not sure he’s come to terms with the matter himself, so he doesn’t fault his team for dancing on eggshells whenever their new and revised policy about off-world consumption is presented to the rest of the SGC. 

But it seems the grace period has disappeared as the bottle of geriatric vitamins sits under the fluorescent lights, taunting him.

Jack tucks the vitamins into the back of his bottom drawer with a huff. At the briefing he and the rest of SG-1 have later that day, he doesn’t give his team the satisfaction of bringing it up. He can take a joke, after all.

(Besides, on a whim, he begins taking them in the morning because, hey, free vitamins, and  _does_  notice a renewed spring in his step. Joke’s on them.)

________________

But it doesn’t stop with the vitamins.

As he, Daniel, and Teal’c excuse themselves into the men’s locker room to gear up for their next mission, he finds his locker stuffed to the brim with adult diapers and underwear. 

The packages tumble out onto the floor and he blinks for a moment, not comprehending what the hell just happened.

Jack turned to his teammates who suddenly found themselves, very,  _very_  interested in their own lockers. Teal’c’s stoic face was as impassive ever but Daniel’s shaking shoulders gave him away, his suppressed laughter making him the target of Jack’s ire. 

“Ha, ha, Daniel,” he griped, pulling the diapers out of his locker and stacking them high on the bench behind Daniel. “Don’t you think this is getting a little out of hand?”

Daniel slipped on his tactical vest and pushed his glasses  up the bridge of his nose before shrugging at his friend. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Jack. I’m not sure it’ll ever get  _old.”_

Jack glared at Daniel’s retreating back and vowed to himself to stuff a diaper into every single one of Daniel’s vest pockets until his supply ran out. 

________________

The knowledge that his team actually can pack in the jokes when they want to is a new one. For the most part, Jack’s own jokes and quips fly over Teal’c’s head and Daniel ignores him. Carter is a bit of a mystery, alternating between a well-concealed roll of her eyes and tightening of her jaw or, his favorite response, that half-formed smile that makes her hide her face from him. 

So after the vitamins and the diapers, he thinks his team has had their fun and that they can safely leave Argos and the entire fiasco behind them. 

He’s learning that his team can really,  _really_  keep a joke alive.

The walker and cane set nestled into the bed of his truck is the last straw. 

It’s mid-afternoon and they’ve just been dismissed from the infirmary with strict instructions to go home and sleep off their last mission. For once, Jack is itching to be home so he can crack open a cold one and kick back on his roof, telescope and the sounds of earth to lull him into relaxation. 

How the hell they had time to sneak the shining metal walker and wooden cane into his truck, he has no idea. 

It doesn’t stop him from collecting both items and storming back into the SGC, ignoring the concerned looks of the ever-watchful airmen who stand guard. He’s had enough of Daniel and his asinine,  _childish_  pranks.

He finds his team in the commissary, Daniel sandwiched between Carter and Teal’c. They’d been ordered to rest, but he’s learning--as he is every day, it seems--that his two scientists are reluctant to leave the base and, y’know, get a life. 

The walker and cane clatter to the floor beside their table and all three of them look up in surprise, but remain seated, forks of chicken pot pie hanging mid-air from their hands. 

“Uh, Jack?” Daniel questions, lips twitching. “Was there something the matter?”

He narrows his eyes and glares at them, holding his finger up and pressing it into Daniel’s chest. 

“Cut the crap, Daniel. I know it’s you orchestrating this whole thing and I’m telling you now. Knock it off.”

Jack’s ready for Daniel to roll his eyes and admit to his crimes, maybe shrug a little and offer up a halfhearted apology and reassurances that this really was the last phase of his little prank. 

What he doesn’t expect is for both Daniel  _and_ Teal’c to flick their eyes to the right towards Carter. His eyes go wide with realization as it sinks in. They’re waiting for  _her_  to say something.

His ire--and disbelief--shifts and he turns his accusations to his second-in-command.

“ _You?”_

Jack watches as her lips twitch upwards and her shoulders life imperceptibly into a small, dismissive shrug. “I’ve got a brother, sir,” she admits and he likes the way her eyes sparkle--god, he hates himself for thinking  _sparkle_ \--with mischief. 

“So you’ve been behind this? The vitamins? The-the diapers?” he splutters before gesturing to the fallen cane and walker set. “ _These?_  Christ, Carter, how did you find the time to sneak these onto the base and get them  _in_  my truck?”

Carter just raises an eyebrow that Teal’c could be proud of and shrugged. “I found a way, sir. It’s just that we all wanted you to feel--” She flicked her eyes to the ground where the medical equipment lies abandoned and then back to his own incredulous stare. “ _Supported.”_

The play on words is too much for Daniel who breaks first, muffling his laughter into his hands before giving up on the pretense completely and dissolving into full blown laughter. Even Teal’c manages a smile and an inclined head nod at him--the equivalent of a Jaffa guffaw. 

But what he likes most is Carter, who finally-- _finally-_ -gives him a full, genuine smile. She doesn’t duck her head or hide from him and he sees for the first time that she’s absolutely, breathtakingly goddamn gorgeous when she directs that smile his way.

For the first time since that initial flare at their first meeting erupted, Jack feels the twinges of attraction and admiration bubble up through his spine, leaving him feeling pleasantly tingly and aware of her. 

It’s enough to cool his ire and allow him to shake his head at her and the rest of his team before plopping down at their table and pulling Carter’s chicken pot pie towards him and a spare fork. 

Home, he decides, can wait a little bit longer. 

 


	9. Thor's Hammer

“I believe Daniel Jackson is angry with me.”

 

Sam froze, the spoonful of blue Jello-O that was on her way to her mouth stopping mid-air. Across the table from where she and Teal’c sat, the Colonel also paused, stopping his task of forming mashed potato mountains and gravy rivers on his plate. 

 

She met his eyes before sighing and, with a sympathetic glance at Teal’c, looked past the Colonel’s shoulder where Daniel stood in the middle of the mess hall with a tray of food in his hands looking over at SG-1’s table with apprehension.

 

He looked rough, Sam thought. Bleary eyed, messy hair, and with a dazed look on his face like he couldn’t quite remember how he got here. She flicked her eyes to the Colonel and noted the tenseness of his shoulders as he, too, kept an eye on their resident archaeologist and linguist. 

 

In the days since SG-1 had returned to Earth from Cimmeria, Daniel had been noticeably absent from team gatherings. He no longer joined them for chow time, skipped out on gym time, and even stood Sam up for their weekly hand-to-hand lessons. It was painfully obvious that he was avoiding them as he processed the loss and destruction of the technology that may have saved Sha’re. 

 

The remaining members of SG-1 watched as Daniel briefly met their gaze before taking one, then two, steps backwards and disappearing through the double doors on the left, no doubt heading straight for his lab. It used to be if you wanted to find Daniel Jackson, you would look for the rest of SG-1. But Cimmeria had created a rift between them. 

 

Sam watched as the Colonel dropped his chin to his chest in disappointment before turning back around in his chair and pushing his potatoes around on his plate. She frowned and turned to her Jaffa teammate, lightly nudging his shoulder with her own in reassurance. 

 

“Oh, he’s not mad at _you_ , Teal’c. He’s just—“ She floundered for a moment, trying to find the right words. “He’s just mad at the situation.”

 

Teal’c considered her words, carefully twisting the stem of his apple over and over again until it snapped off. “If I had not been with you, if I was not part of SG-1,” he started, deliberately making direct eye contact with the Colonel, “then I would not have jeopardized this mission, O’Neill. I would not have jeopardized the team.”

 

Sam made a noise of protest, her hand covering her teammate’s forearm and squeezing lightly. “ _No way_ , Teal’c.”

 

The Colonel, similarly, did not agree with Teal’c’s assessment of his role on SG-1. He dropped his fork back onto his plate with a clatter, leaning forward on his forearms across the table and pointing a finger in Teal’c’s direction. 

 

“Oh, for crying out loud. T, if you weren’t on SG-1, we’d be dead or stuck back in Apophis’ cell waiting to get snaked. So don’t go gettin’ any ideas of being a noble Jaffa and ditchin’ us, okay?”

 

Sam watched as Teal’c and the Colonel exchanged some intense, wordless communication by simple eye contact. Finally, Teal’c bowed his head, eyes closing briefly, before returning to his fruit pile. 

 

“Thank you, O’Neill. And you, Captain Carter. If it was not for either of you, I would still be trapped in Thor’s Hammer, which would pain me dearly as I have become quite fond of the Tau’ri.” There was a pause and then, “Particularly your fruit.”

 

Sam and the Colonel huffed out a laugh. Jaffa humor was something of a learning curve, but the more they got to know their friend and teammate, the more they were catching on. 

 

“I believe I shall take my leave. Dr. Fraiser has shown me one of your television programs called _ER_ that I find most intriguing.”

 

Sam and the Colonel watched as Teal’c collected his tray of apples, bananas, kiwis, and pineapples and disappeared out the double doors as well.

 

She turned to the Colonel, eyebrow raised. “Was that a joke, sir?”

 

The Colonel shrugged, shaking his head. “There’s just no telling, Carter.” He pushed his tray away from him towards the center of the table and leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocking behind his head. “You think this thing with Daniel is becoming a problem?”

 

She sat in her chair a little straighter, suddenly aware that he was addressing her not as his subordinate or friend, but as his second-in-command. He was asking for a sit-rep of their team dynamics and she would deliver. 

 

Consider her words carefully, Sam answered. “I think he needs another day, sir. And if he hasn’t come around by then, I can talk to him. It’s not fair if he’s holding a grudge against Teal’c. Or—“ She hesitated for a moment before forging on. “Or you, sir. You made the right call.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why thank you, Carter. Glad to know my batting average didn’t take a hit.”

 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his irreverence. “I just mean, sir, that I know that as much as this is upsetting Daniel, I know it wasn’t an easy decision for you either.” She faltered, wondering if she was crossing a line. They hadn’t really talked about Skaara. 

 

The Colonel surveyed her and she fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. She was no stranger to commanding officer’s who tried to use eye contact to intimidate or control. But there was something about the Colonel’s gaze that was _different_. It felt like he could see straight through her and it left her feeling off-kilter and hot all over.

 

“We’re going to have a lot of hard decisions to make ahead of us. But as much as I want Skaara back, as much as I want Daniel to get Sha’re back, I won’t do it at the expense of Teal’c. Or any of you.”

 

It sounded like he was making her a promise and she nodded, mouth dry. 

 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 

Again, those eyes of his stared at her, not letting her look away. It was starting to feel like a damn cliché, the way she was starting to use words like _chocolate_ and _espresso_ to describe the various shades of his eyes at any given moment.

 

And then, just when she thought she was going to forget how to breathe with him looking at her like that, the Colonel was grinning boyishly and nudging her foot with his own beneath the table.

 

“Besides, Carter, I know you got a good look at ole Thor’s technology up there. You can recreate that hammer in, what, a few hours?”

 

“Oh, absolutely, sir,” she agreed in a faux-sage voice, nodding and trying to hide the smile curling the corners of her mouth upwards. “Not a problem.”

 

“Never had a doubt.”

 

He nudged her foot once more and then stood, gathering his tray and stretching. “We’ve got a briefing with Hammond at 1430. When you go harass Daniel after lunch, let him know, okay?”

 

“What—I’m not going to _harass_ —“ She sighed and dropped her head. “Yes, sir.” The truth was, she had every intention of going to Daniel’s office and trying to head off a potential confrontation between him and the Colonel in a few days’ time. Daniel needed to forgive the Colonel and Teal’c for an impossible decision and she was going to make sure he did so.

 

With a nod in her direction, he turned on his heel, whistling to himself, and dropped his tray off before pushing both of the double doors open and disappearing down the hallway. 

 

Sam watched him go, a smile on her lips, trying to ignore the warmth still tingling up and down her leg from where he had nudged her leg earlier. Catching herself lingering on the memory of their interaction a little too long, she stood up and followed in his footsteps.

 

She had been tasked with a duty as his second-in-command and she wasn’t going to let him down. 


End file.
